


They came with the storm

by FourthAxis



Series: After The Fall [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Domestic, Gift Giving, ItsStillBeautiful, Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourthAxis/pseuds/FourthAxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life at sea is quiet and serene, but a storm forces them to dock. For one that's a blessing, for the other a nightmare, but both end up stumbling across extra shared baggage they need to resolve sooner rather than later. </p><p>A moment in time set after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4733954">Limbo</a>, a story where post-fall they treated their wounds and issues over life, death, and love in an abandoned cabin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They came with the storm

 

There were days on the sea when barely any words would get voiced between them, when all their communication was in the hums, the nods, the pointing fingers and the trailing eyes. They could spend hours locked in long wordless card games where the only sounds between them were chuckles and scoffs. On more talkative days, Will learned some new games, something Italian in origin by the name of Briscola and Tressette. Their mornings would often begin with one of those, Hannibal mixing cards and dealing hands as Will served up fairly diluted coffee. Supplies were depleting and Will’s stomach curdled a little every time he thought about it.

Three quite games later, awake and with arms properly stretched out, they took their business up on deck.

Arms were left sure and exhausted after they lifted the anchor and pulled out the sails. They passed the point where bandages would soak red after an exertion, but Hannibal’s breath was still laborious and the blooming ache in Will’s shoulder fresh like the day it was made.

It was a cold misty morning on the still waters of the open sea, the sky above them hazy and bruised purple as rays of early sunlight fought against the clouds in the east. Behind them the sky was still dark and starless, and it was hard to tell from which side the storm would come and force them to treacherous shores.

But that morning, Will’s stomach didn’t twist with unease at the thought of it as both sat on the deck, side by side, watching as clouds slowly ate up the early morning light, the murmur of the sea the only sound around them. Their shoulders pressed against each other as the chill took all sense from their fingers and toes and smouldering wounds.

“We’ll have to dock soon,” Hannibal echoed Will’s thoughts in a low voice, and the response he got in turn was a simple nod.

As the cold became unbearable, they stood in near tandem and rocked the boat, the splashing echoes of the sea loudly breaking through the morning’s stillness.

“What would you like for breakfast,” Hannibal asked.

“Surprise me,” Will said. There wasn’t much left in their stock to be surprised, yet Hannibal could always be counted to do something interesting with it.

***

It wasn’t just a storm brewing. The promise of ice came with it, like it followed them from the north. Like it would follow them where ever they’d go.

The fishermen complained about the weather mostly among themselves, and no one paid them much heed in this small town they docked for a night. A quiet little thing with curtains pulled and shutters closed on most windows. The odd inhabitant spotted walking around with bags and equipment was always seen looking to the sky for the ominous downpour. Their radio broadcast caught a faint warning in a few languages. Perhaps something bigger than usual was coming.

Will tried not to think the warning was about them.

He took it on himself to buy some food that wasn’t canned, and Hannibal was in charge of finding them accommodations. When they met up, he did not care to ask how Hannibal found a place with a kitchenette and several rooms that weren’t crammed into a small square of space, just that he wasn’t recognized.

Hannibal had to laugh at his sense of priority when by now they were considered more dead than missing.

As the winds picked up, Will expressed concern for their small boat and left to make sure it was properly secured. He promised a hasty return, but an hour passed, two, three, and the sky was beginning to darken, winds howling, and still he hadn’t returned. It worried Hannibal, but not for any sane reasons.

He had hoped to make something out of their day ashore, a pleasant memory for both, but Will mostly. A small gift weighted his pocket, the result of an impulsive purchase that caught his eye as he passed a store. He spent less thought on it than choosing accommodations, and yet Hannibal was certain it was the right thing to buy.

While Will was gone, Hannibal filled the time with making dinner, going out in the rain wrapped in a scarf and a baseball hat to buy wine that wasn’t quite so shit, and even making dessert, and all the while he still worried. Not that the gales would knock Will off the docks, or that the waves that were surely rising would drag him back into the ocean. No, Hannibal worried about Will leaving, disappearing forever, never to be heard from again. An ugly baseless little thought that kicked around his mind no matter how hard he’d focus on beating the eggs. There was no conceivable evidence to this fear, not now, not after everything. And yet there it was, lingering constantly on his mind as hours ticked away like an irritating itch he couldn’t reach.

Before he could consider taking action, the front door slammed as a draft blew through the apartment, and with a bowl and whisk still in his hands he came from the kitchen to see Will. He stood by the door, short of breath and dripping with ice that melted in his hair and clothes as he tried to shake it off.

Hannibal left the beaten eggs on the table and approached to help, courtesy as much as habit, though he was sure Will didn’t need as much help with his shoulder anymore.

“What kept you so long?”

“My worries weren’t unfound,” and there was a soft hiss as Will rolled his shoulder out of the jacket. “But I wasn’t the only one who needed help.”

Hannibal tsked.  

“Did you worry,” and the corner of Will’s lips curled ever so slightly at that question, eyes looking at Hannibal’s for the truth he would not get with words.

Hannibal glanced outside at the swaying trees. “The winds are strong,” he said and turned to hang up the jacket.

“Not quite strong enough to knock me over,” _but almost_ , Will thought to add. He hoped the foul weather wouldn’t linger too long – they were still in US territory, and would be for a while longer. Sturdy ground beneath his feet felt treacherous with every speeding car, every siren wail and odd long look. Will didn’t want to take risks, and the sea promised fewer, even if it almost took their lives.

Hannibal, though, would probably enjoy several days ashore. He hid it well enough but Will knew the faint signs of sea sickness, noticed his difficult sleep as the boat swayed in the dark. Then there was the confining element to it, a small space with nowhere to go, and Hannibal had seen and felt enough of that to grow sick of it. Even swimming was ill-advised.

“Sit,” his hand trailed across Will’s back as he passed him by. “Dinner is ready and waiting.”

Will remembered buying the salmon and a few bell peppers, but not the mushrooms that looked suspiciously like truffles, or the glaze that covered the salmon and scented the room with sweet notes of honey and mustard.

“Fancy,” Will said amused and took a swing of the wine, white and sweet on his tongue like a promise of the coming spring.

“We don’t afford ourselves extravagance on the boat,” Hannibal said as he sliced him a generous piece of the fish. “Might as well indulge while we can.”

And that they did, with just enough room in their bellies for a small cup of tiramisu. As Hannibal served them, he found Will’s eyes tracing the walls of the apartment, looking for a clock. It was something he noticed Will miss, his eyes and fingers always searching for it around the wrist like an old reflex.

“What’s the time,” he finally asked, but got no answer. Instead, Hannibal circled him to reach his left hand and took it in his without question.

There was no giftwrap or box with bows and ribbons, a gesture Will wouldn’t much care for, just a watch pulled from his pocket that he took the time to set around Will’s wrist. And Will looked at it for a long time as Hannibal took his seat and said nothing.

A brown leather band and stainless steel, analogue of course, and the right brand too. They were almost the same, even showed some signs of wear. Will had lost a watch to the ocean, but before that he lost another one a little more dear to him. He looked at Hannibal baffled and wide-eyed. Could they be the same?

“Where did you find it? When?”

There was a sweet innocence in Will’s hopeful gaze that he almost hated to burst. “In a pawn shop,” Hannibal said with a wry smile.

Will sat back in his chair, looking at the watch on his wrist, and the smile on his face deepened before his eyes moved to meet Hannibal’s. “Pawn shop,” he asked, his lips curling into something wicked and maybe just a little mocking.

“I’ll find you something better when we get—”

“No,” Will cut him off with a shake of his head, “no, I like this one. Thank you.” A warmth spread deep in his chest as he looked at it. “I lost a very similar watch on the Verger farm,” he said, though by now he was certain Hannibal knew exactly what he bought.

Hannibal smiled and meet his eyes. “A lot was lost that day,” and he tasted a spoonful of the creamy dessert to shoo away the old bitter thoughts.

Something in Will’s chest tightened a little as he remembered those strange few days all those years ago. The time that passed and the drugs he was under had the memory of them bleeding into seamlessness. He recalled a friend screaming, begging Hannibal to stop as the sound of a buzzsaw filled his ears and blood flooded his vision. A similar memory followed not long after, when Hannibal came to lift restraints off his immobile body and carry him away from a fate not all that gruesomely dissimilar from the one Hannibal would have given him.

There were mounds of old nasty memories and the length of a small table between them, but Will felt certain were Hannibal any closer to him, he’d kiss him.

The idea lingered on his mind well past their dessert, but when they stood and carried the dishes to the kitchenette, when Hannibal took out the whiskey and came close to pour him a glass, Will felt stuck in a deadlock as he stared at the other man’s lips. His fist clenched and unclenched, legs shifting weight, mouth opening and closing as if to say something, to move, to act. But nothing happened and Will was confused by his own stalemate.

They moved back to the living room and Hannibal was talking about something important, something about their fake identities, the names they should use in public, a change of style even. But Will wasn’t listening, too busy summoning courage for something he never thought he’d need. _It’s just a damn kiss_ , he thought, but the promise of it had Will both eager and anxious.

Was it all the baggage? Why now? This wasn’t their first, or second for that matter. When Hannibal turned with a questioning look, Will sucked in a breath of determination and stepped closer, so close and—

Hannibal’s hand grabbed him by the shoulder, held him at distance.

He noticed and how could he not. Hannibal sighed, clinked their glasses and took a long sip. “Will,” he said, “you bribed me into compliancy with your life. Our lives,” and it was Hannibal’s turn to flash him a wicked and maybe just a little mocking smile. “You needn’t do more than that.”

“What do you—”

“Have you not noticed?” Hannibal swirled the remainder of his whiskey and took it all down before continuing. The slightly sour look on his face seemed not be a reaction to the drink. “Intimacy comes easier to you under the shroud of night. You’ve only ever kissed me in the dark, where you didn’t have to see my face.”

Will’s breath halted in his throat again but he kept his face level, trying not to show that was the first time he’d noticed said pattern. Not that there were many times they kissed, but Hannibal was right – when it would happen, it was dark, and Will would start it.

“I didn’t buy you a gift with the hopes of a reward, Will.”

When it would happen, it was dark, and Will would always start it. “I suppose I deserve that,” Will frowned, “but am I not allowed to feel a little,” he fought for a word until he settled on, “lost? I’m in my forties, Hannibal, and my life took a nose dive. I thought I at least knew what side of the road I was driving on. And now I don’t.”

The excuse made sense in his head, but Hannibal didn’t seem like he was going to afford him with some understanding on the matter.

Will took a nervous sip, unsure what to say next other than flip the record and return fire.

“Well, since we’re airing out grievances,” he knocked back the rest of his drink and set it down a little too loudly, “this glass rose treatment is going on my nerves.”

Hannibal chuckled with some incredulity. “I’m sorry?”

“I see it in your eyes every day and they want, yet never act,” Will straightened to his full height and crossed his arms. The frown deepened on his face. “Your reluctance is insulting.”

“Not reluctance, caution.”

“Insulting.”

“You misunderstand.”

“As do you!”

The storm raging outside filled the room with noise in the absence of their words. The tones of their voices had risen and their conversation was almost starting to sound like an argument. Blood ran a little hot under Will’s skin when he sighed and figured out how to fix their problems.

“Kiss me,” he said, and did not wipe the frown off his face, nor did he uncross his arms.

At any time, there were too many thoughts on Hannibal’s mind moving left and right, up and down. Calculating, wondering, predicting, meddling, and even worrying. He worried a lot about this, worried about the boundaries he should respect, worried about too soon and too quick, worried that Will never had the interest and was simply exercising a new form of control.

And if so, Will knew what he was doing better than he thought he did, his eyes almost angry, almost pleading. Hannibal could stand to look at them only for so long. He had half a mind to leave and defuse the situation with more drinks, but the other half spurred him on, too strong in its intent. Surely he could tell the difference by now, surely this one worry could die bludgeoned to death in this ruddy little apartment. They could hide no secrets from each other, not now.

One nightmare dispelled itself when what Hannibal found waiting for him didn’t flinch or freeze, and it went against all he cautioned himself for. Instead he tumbled into a willing raw hunger he hadn’t felt before, the kind that forwent its own caution.

Will’s mouth was warm and pliant, the taste of cheap whiskey on his lips and it was a flavour Hannibal found himself loving in this form. His hands held Will’s face, thumb grazing over the short coarse hair growing around the still-healing scar. The arms between them unravelled and Will pulled Hannibal’s closer, his arms circling around his torso careful and exploratory, much like his tongue grazing over Hannibal’s. The gestures were tender and long lasting, much longer than their breaths would allow, and it was hard to tell who sucked in the first shuddering breath between kisses and who moaned in delight.

The room was suddenly too small and too warm for anything, and Hannibal, he wanted to do everything, but stopped short of trailing his hands too far down Will’s chest as they parted for much needed air. The loud drumming of his heart made an impression on Hannibal’s hands before he pulled them away.

Once again, the storm overpowered their silence with rattling windows and whistling winds.

Will had his eyes closed when their mouths left each other, a mocking distance between them as their breaths still mingled. When his eyes opened they flicked sideways to the outside world, then back at Hannibal with a reflexive lick of his lips.

“It’s very late,” Will tried not to smirk. “Does this still count as, how did you put it, intimacy under the shroud of night?”

Hannibal moved a little further way, seemingly giving it considerable thought. “Technically.”

“A shame,” and Will, too, moved away. “We’ll have to try again then.” He yawned and gave one last poignant look aimed at Hannibal before turning way. “I’m off to bed.”

It was an invitation for nothing more than sleep, and Will knew that just like on their boat, what waited for him in the bedroom was a single bed. They’d grown so used to sharing that space it was almost hard to find sleep without the other.

And that night Hannibal slept deep and content, undisturbed by the loud pattering of frigid rain against glass. He even had to be woken up in the morning, a delightful first for both of them.

***

“It’s a very small town,” that it was, “and the weather is still not at its best.” The weather was perfect, clear blue skies and windy. “I doubt anyone noticed us,” a few men on the docks noticed them, some shop owners too, and of course the old lady whose apartment they dwelled in, “or recognized us.” Surely not with all that shady apparel and hats and scarves. Who would ever find that suspicious? “I think we can afford ourselves one more day on land.”

Hannibal jerked the skilled and flipped the pancake, American style, fluffy and with ricotta cheese, Will’s morning wish. “Are you certain,” he looked to the man beside him who seemed to be far more interested in the pancake. “You are right to keep us at sea, that’s where we are safest. This is still a risk.”

“I’ve given it thought and made up my mind,” Will said, “the extra day won’t kill us.” He tapped his new old watch and winked, “This is me repaying yesterday’s gift.”

And it was a generous repayment, that much Hannibal was aware of and grateful for. The thank-you came in the form of a smile that reached his eyes, and maybe something more a little later in the day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Word of God liked to claim Will was a heterosexual so challenge fucking excepted for some reason?? Why I chose to do this will be a mystery to us all, including me.  
> It's my sincerest hope I didn't make any of these middle-aged men sound like squabbling teens XD;; If so, I have failed extremely and brought great shame to my dojo. You'll be the judge of that.


End file.
